


Missed Connections

by Kisleth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Online Friendship, Pining, Sassy Jasper, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you know? Of course you know, you know everything. You must be trolling MC and laughing your secretive level eight ass off at the whole situation, poor anonymous poster.” Jasper sighs. “Thought they could pine safely on the internet, away from your prying eyes, but omniscient Agent Coulson sees all.”</p><p>Phil has no idea what Jasper’s talking about but he at least got the internet part. It’s making him feel, well, uneducated. He’s always considered himself technologically savvy. He has a flying corvette, for Pete’s sake, of course he knows his way around technology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Connections

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my two lovely betas, KibblerEars and infiniteeight8, your comments and suggestions were wonderful and very helpful.
> 
> Oh! And this is my 50th fic! Let's hope there will be 50+ more~

“It’s just like you to have a secret admirer stalker person as stealthy and subtle as you are.” Jasper’s voice is accusing. The comment jolts Phil’s brain out of paperwork mode. He looks up from the file and blinks slowly, trying to shift from one mindset to the other. The flailing hands and loud voice are not helping.

“What?” He would have attempted more words, really, but he’s still trying to reorient himself, which is embarrassing (not that he’s blushing. He can control that easily). Two and a half blinks later he’s collected and staring Jasper down, willing him silently to explain or _go away_.

“Did you know? Of course you know, you know everything. You must be trolling MC and laughing your secretive level eight ass off at the whole situation, poor anonymous poster.” Jasper sighs. “Thought they could pine safely on the internet, away from your prying eyes, but omniscient Agent Coulson sees all.”

Phil has no idea what Jasper’s talking about but he at least got the internet part. It’s making him feel, well, uneducated. He’s always considered himself technologically savvy. He has a flying corvette, for Pete’s sake, of course he knows his way around technology. He even has a StarkPhone (although it isn’t the latest model, nor does he know how to do every little thing with it). He’s savvy. Totally savvy. Just because he hasn’t heard of every (popular) site on the internet and personally visited every nook and cranny doesn’t mean he isn’t. He’s not Tony Stark, he doesn’t have to know. “What are you talking about?”

“Missed Connections, Phil.” Sitwell sits down across from him and it’s a skilled mix of neat and exact with a bit of smug reclining as he crosses one leg over the other. “On Craigslist—it’s not like the regular classifieds, someone wrote about you in ‘ _Missed Connections_ ’.”

Slowly, Phil raises one eyebrow but doesn’t look up from the file in front of him. He has no idea what Jasper is talking about but it’s probably nothing important. He also knows that if he says nothing, Jasper will keep talking because whenever Jasper knows something Phil doesn’t… well, it’s not a _contest_ per se, but he certainly treats it like one. Until he continues, he’s going to keep reading through the equipment losses of his last mission.

The sigh that comes is explosive and Jasper waves his hands in such a way that it’s clearly trying to say ‘what the hell am I to do with you?’. “Okay, Mr I-don’t-know-as-much-as-I-make-you-believe-I-do, let me learn you a thing.”

“Not if you’re going to talk like that, you aren’t.” Phil remarks dryly. “Just because you heard it from the Level Ones—”

“Baby agents.”

“No.” His tone is firm and he looks up from the seven missing (missing!) H&K P30s listed on the file before him.

“Fine,” Jasper gives in. “‘Missed Connections’ is part of the personal ads subset on craigslist. Where you send out anonymous love letters or thoughts about some random passersby with maybe a hope that they might find you. And someone has been calling out to you so often that our Social Media team picked up on it. Possible security risk, you know?”

“What makes Social Media believe it’s me the person is talking to?”

“That’s what I asked.” Jasper’s eyes glint as he inhales and Phil knows he’s in for gossip whether he wants it or not. “One of the analysts besties is in Filing and has a crush on you. Or, well, your clothes. The posts always describe the tie you’re wearing and ClothingBoner just happens to know exactly what you were wearing on each day. It’s definitely you.”

"Are you trying to say that my ties are a security liability?"

"I'm saying someone on the F-train has a huge crush on you. And you might want to guard your clothing a bit more jealously."

Phil heaves a put-upon sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. How is he the one to always attract the weird ones? Is it a curse? He can't see how it could be called a gift? "Proof."

Jasper just hums in question, idly pretending to pick at his nails (as if watching Phil in non-work-emergency related anguish wasn’t his favorite thing to do).

"Where is my proof of this? That you're not just making this up."

It is then that Phil realizes that he has been well and truly played because Jasper lights up like he’d been _waiting_ for him to demand proof all along. He stands and looks near predatory, muttering, “just you wait, Phil, I’ve got your proof.” He stalks around Phil’s desk and takes advantage of Phil’s wheeled desk chair to shove him out of the way so he can grab the keyboard.

Phil watches with ill-hidden dismay as Jasper pulls up craigslist. At least Jasper is focused on the screen instead of his face.

There are several clicks on different posts as he narrows the search and goes back as far as three months ago. “There are many, many more than this. About three per week or so, but here are just a few I remembered the titles of,” he moves back to let Phil look at the entries.

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

My coworkers showed me this part of craigslist so I can try to reach out to you instead of telling them about you all the time. I wonder if it’ll work?

You’re wearing a really understated tie today, but even in the cheap train lighting I can see a subtle geometric pattern. Sticking it to the man and defying the solid color rule with rhombi… I certainly respect that.

You’re almost at the end of your book. I wonder if it’s your favorite? You’re more expressive reading it than any other I’ve seen you and it looks well-loved. I have some of those too. Do we have any in common? I might never know.

_poster id: 616199999_

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I feel like such a creep, but I’m glad it was unseasonably warm today because I’ve never seen you without your jacket before. It’s very well tailored and leaves little to the imagination when it comes to your shoulders. They're very nice. You must be a G-man or a bouncer at a very classy club. It would explain why you're on the F this late at night.

You thought you could hide your tie from me by tucking it in your pocket, but I caught a glimpse. Eggplant with a suede finish and tiny arrows. It's instantly my favorite, I have a deep love for archery.

No book in hand today, but you've clutched your messenger bag much tighter than I've ever seen. Long day at work? I wish I could help you relax...

_poster id: 616199999_

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I missed you on the train today, but imagine my surprise when you came to my workplace! I'm getting harassed by my coworkers more than ever now, not that I regret it one bit.

Today, I got to hear your voice. It's a soft timber but warm and under it lays a steely confidence in everything you say. You could lie to me and I'd believe it as empirical fact (but please don't). Your voice makes me trust you, which in my life... Doesn't happen.

I liked your tie today. A deep emerald green with tone on tone ferns. Is it because of Earth Day? I'd like to think so.

_poster id: 616199999_

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

Again, we meet at my work! I haven’t said anything yet, every time I get near you, I forget how to properly speak. I’d probably make an ass of myself if I tried any harder. I get no sympathy from my coworkers, but I feel like I deserve it.

No tie today, but it’s completely understandable because you look like your building burned down. I could smell smoke on you (the whole place could, honestly) and I think I saw some gauze on your neck, too. I really hope you’re all right.

I want to cook for you, something warm and nutritious and easy on the throat. Your voice sounded really raw. Coffee was probably not the best choice, Cutie, next time (I hope there isn’t one), I’m going to have to intervene and give you hot lemon tea with honey.

Please rest up, I’ll see you Saturday evening on the F-train.

_poster id: 616199999_

Phil shifts in his seat a little awkwardly. Those are his ties, yes, and the date on one of them matches up with the Incident with Johnny Storm. He wonders how many of these posts there are, how many times has he missed the same person studying him hard enough that they can describe the subtleties of his damn _ties_.

“You know who your admirer is, don’t you?” Jasper leans a hip on Phil’s desk and eyes him, trying to read his expression—which is very carefully blank.

“I don’t.”

“For now.” He grins slowly, the expression curling his mouth into a wicked smirk. “You can’t tell me—without lying—that you aren’t curious. That you’re not going to die of needing to know until you figure it out.”

“I plead the fifth.” Phil mumbles, his eyes flicking to the clock. He needs to leave if he’s going to catch the F at his usual time. He can just bring his work home with him tonight. He quickly packs things up without saying a word to Jasper. If he couldn’t take the hint, then the man has serious problems. But mostly, Phil didn’t want to give him any more excuses to tease him.

Once ready to go, he gives Jasper a sharp look that clearly says ‘get out’ and waits for him to lead the way out the door. He locks up and walks at a normal pace until he’s out of sight. For some reason, as soon as he turns the corner from Jasper’s (heavy, judging) view, he hurries to the elevators, not wanting to miss the train tonight.

Logically, he should be cautious. He doesn’t know who this person is, let alone their motive or gender, but something about the posts… He makes the first train in time and uses the five minute ride toward the right stop to look up more posts from his… tie stalker? Secret admirer, maybe? He’s not sure how to label them, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to. He’s rather surprised in himself that he’s more interested in learning their name.

Once on the F-train Phil ducks his head a little and watches the passengers as subtly as he can. He doesn’t know who he’s looking for, but he’s bound to notice someone looking at him hard enough to note the details of his ties. After a few stops he hasn’t seen anyone who is being obvious or even just casual about looking at him.

It occurs to him then, how long will he ride this train for some anonymous person? There are several stops along its route that he’s used before, the last of which took him home. There aren’t any times on the posts, so it’s not like he’s able to use that as a reference point… His mouth twists into a frown. He’ll just have to head home and try not to haunt the Missed Connections page for too long.

* * *

He checks the page five times over the hours he’s home and the last time, when he’s crawling into bed, he sees the now familiar title.

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I wonder if you were on the train today? If you were, I’m sorry I missed you. I had to head in early to work tonight and pull a double because one of the girls called out sick. Chickenpox at 35, who knew?

After this I’ve got some vacation time to use before it expires. I’m going to road trip out to the Appalachians and do some camping to take advantage of May being warmer. I don’t want mosquito weather, but I don’t want to freeze off important bits, you know?

I hope I’ll see you again in a couple weeks. I’ll…I’ll miss being on the same train as you.

_poster id: 616199999_

Phil frowns as he settles into his bed. He plugs in his phone and rolls over and…it’s foolish, but his bed feels too big. He’s above snuggling his other pillow to his chest but can’t stop himself from thinking ‘I’ll miss you too’ for a faceless person he knows so little about.

He tosses and turns, unable to sleep for over an hour. Finally, Phil sighs heavily, flops over, and snatches up his phone. He clicks on post and is happy to see that he doesn’t need to sign up for an account he may never use again. He signs up anyway. He wants a consistent poster id instead of a random one. He wants to be anonymous to others but found by the one he’s looking for. It’s straightforward enough and he’s posted it before he realizes he could have just hit reply. Oh well. This is more…safe. Possibly also a little romantic in his tired, twisted mind.

**I’m the Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

(And doesn’t he feel a little embarrassed and arrogant typing that.)

I’m sorry I missed you today. I admit, I was trying to keep an eye out for someone studying my tie, but I never got a second glance. I tend to blend in, so it was a bit shocking at first to think someone had noticed me more than once.

Today’s tie was navy, a shade darker than my suit. It had a very faint gingham check look to it because of how the fabric was woven. Just in case you were wondering.

_poster id: 430081218_

He watches the phone load as it posts it and refreshes the screen a few times, hoping for a reply already. It’s not as huge of a deal though, he at least got out what he needed to. Finally, Phil drifts off to sleep with his phone still clutched in one hand.

* * *

The two weeks of Anonymous’s vacation drag on without a single reply to Phil’s post. He wonders if he was ignored, or if it got buried since he posted it so late at night. Of course, cell reception in the Appalachians probably sucked for civilians. (‘Mere mortals’ Tony Stark said once. Phil didn’t laugh, but he might have strained something holding his chuckle in check.)

He settles into bed with a groan exactly one day after the two weeks (and a long, tiring mission later) and picks up his phone to check Missed Connections which had become habit. To his pleasant surprise, there was a post for him.

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

You’re sure a sight for sore eyes, sling and all! I really hope it’s a minor injury, like a strained muscle in your shoulder or something and not a broken collar bone. (I know how much that one sucks from experience. Don’t do it, man.)

You wore my favorite tie today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you repeat before. I’d been wondering about the never ending supply of ties. I kinda had a daydream once about a giant walkin closet of nothing but ties on those automated rack thingies so you could rotate them and not have to walk and pick one? Pretty silly, huh?

I hope your busted (or just semi-busted) wing gets better soon.

_poster id: 616199999_

Phil doesn’t hesitate in replying as fast as he can.

**I’m the Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

Not too serious. I was being heroic and trying to clear out bystanders during the last Avengers skirmish in the streets. My arm got caught wrong and, well, at least I have good insurance.

I do not have a closet like that, but it’d make everything a lot easier if I did. It wouldn’t fit in my apartment, however. Alas, New York.

I’m not sure if you saw my post before your vacation but…there is one. Just, just so you know.

_poster id: 430081218_

Phil’s nervous as he clicks the button to post. He’s also exhausted and the painkillers he’d popped when he stepped in are slowly but surely dragging him under. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but he wakes up with his phone stuck to his cheek and no reply from Anonymous. He tries not to be too hopeful.

Between his brief medical leave and shorter hours (and then suddenly much longer ones), he and his new acquaintance miss each other time after time. They talk regularly, in short posts on Missed Connections. Neither of them have reached out to send a reply via email. It’s putting too much weight on this… whatever it is, Phil rationalizes to himself. Jasper flat out tells him that it’s all bullshit and that he should stop pussyfooting around this mess.

“Seriously, Phil,” Jasper complains, dramatically sprawling over his guest chair, “I’ve seen the posts.”

“Stalker,” Phil interjects.

“You’re doing that weird shit you call flirting.” Jasper continues as if Phil hadn’t spoken. “Just hunt the poor bastard down and put them out of their heart-broken misery. Find them. _Kiss_ them. Date the fuck out of them.”

“And just how do I hunt them down? We haven’t been able to get on the same train in nearly three months.” Phil winces because it sounds a lot longer now that he’s said it out loud.

“For fuck’s sake, _ASK_!” Jasper slaps his hands down on Phil’s desk with much more force than needed, and hilariously, it makes them both jump. “Phil, you’re the most infuriating, oblivious-to-your-own-feelings, idiot of a non-biological sibling in the history of my life and I want to shake you so hard the juniors think there’s an earthquake right now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?!”

Phil nods. “You’re right. I’ll ask. But if it goes to hell, you’re buying me a box of donuts in lieu of…whatever you’d do if someone broke Maria’s heart or whatever.”

Jasper snorts but agrees and leaves, claiming to not want to witness the emotional constipation of Phil’s face as he writes his post. Phil is only mildly affronted but very glad for the peace and quiet. He can focus now, yay, but now that there’s no distraction his stomach is tying itself in knots, not yay.

He fights down every nervous tic that tries to surface and just writes.

**I’m the Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

We keep missing each other now that we’re actively trying to catch each other on the train. How about we actually try to meet?

_poster id: 616199999_

He leaves his office and doesn’t touch his phone until he’s made it to the nearest breakroom, gotten himself coffee, and returned to settle on his couch instead of his chair. He settles onto it, maybe curling up a little in his insecurity, and checks his phone for a possible reply.

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I’d love to. I’m not working tonight, but I have dropped in to use the free WiFi. I bet a G-man like yourself can track the IP address on this post easily. Meet me here? At 1900? (See, I can be all cool and militaryish too.)

I’ll be hogging the table in the left corner from the front door.

_poster id: 616199999_

Phil has no idea how to, but he knows exactly where to go. And he has three hours to do it.

**I’m the Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I’ll be there.

_poster id: 430081218_

* * *

Phil is (coincidentally) wearing the ‘favorite’ tie when he gets off on the stop that leads him to the 24-hour cyber cafe that he happened upon one night when he got off a handful of stops too early. He had been running off a different time zone and not enough sleep at the time. There are high, round tables in the center split with little walls into fours with tall chairs and a computer at each station. The walls are lined with fancier outlets; there are booths on one side, squishy chairs and couches on the other.

Basically, it’s geek heaven. With damn good coffee.

He gives the cafe a cursory sweep with his eyes, going for immediate threats and escape routes rather than seeking out Anonymous. He heads up to the counter and orders a coffee so he has something he can fiddle with without being too obvious. (Phil might hide his nervous ticks on the job, but here he’s himself and not Agent Coulson.)

Drink in hand, he turns toward the left corner and freezes. His eyes lock on a stunning grey-green-blue gaze that is amazingly bright and clear to him even at this distance. The man is the only person sitting in the corner he’d been told to meet at, so there is no doubt in his mind that this…gorgeous man is the one who’d been writing to him. Nerves make him want to retreat, but he steels himself, he’s Agent Coulson, dammit. He doesn’t freeze up over stunning eyes and well-muscled arms and—damn, that smile is making his knees go weak.

“Hi,” he at least doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels once he’s reached the table.

“Hey,” the smile grows softer but is no less knee-weakening and Phil has to sit before he makes a fool of himself.

He’s halfway seated when he remembers to offer his hand and finally introduce himself. “Phil Coulson.” Unfortunately the hand he offers still has his coffee in it. He reigns in his normal reaction—blushing—and sets down the coffee so he can shake the man’s hand.

A gentle chuckle breaks the smile and it doesn’t make Phil feel embarrassed, more like they’re sharing a joke. “Clint Barton,” he takes Phil’s hand and the handshake is firm but not too hard. “Pleasure to finally, properly, meet you.” It definitely lingers and they rest their joined hands on the table for a few seconds before either of them even think to pull away.

“Same.” Phil wraps his hand around his coffee to regain the warmth he’s missing from releasing Clint’s hand. “It’s nice to put a face to the words.” They drift off into silence and Phil mentally searches through Clint’s letters to him to find a topic to talk about. “It did work, Missed Connections.”

Clint blinks, his face blank as he tries to connect the sudden change. He clearly hadn’t been expecting Phil to say that. “So it did…” The corner of his mouth quirks up, “it only took you five months.”

Phil shrugs a little. “I rarely go to craigslist, bit of a miracle that I found out at all. Glad though.” He returns the small crooked smile. “The book I was reading. It was Good Omens. I’ve read it at least fifty times by now. I like Terry Pratchett and sometimes my job is rough to my books. I lost the dust jacket on that one and the title on the spine has worn off from years of use and some water damage.”

Clint’s face lights up at the mention of the author and soon enough they’re discussing Clint’s love for Sam Vimes and Death, and their shared secondhand embarrassment when it comes to Rincewind, and Susan and the Hogfather, and Granny Weatherwax and all of the less-known characters that have definitely stuck with them as favorites. From there Phil just starts to answer all the questions that Clint has asked over his letters and Clint just asks more and shares his own, talking with his hands all the way.

Phil finds it very endearing.

* * *

The upside of the 24hour cyber cafe is that they don’t have to worry about anyone kicking them out. The downside is by the time they realize what time it is, Phil’s jaw is cracking from his third giant yawn. He blinks away the reflexive tears and sees Clint watching him, his hand over his mouth as he leans on his elbow. His eyes crinkle at the corners and Phil knows the man is smiling at him. Before he can ask, Clint half-blurts, “you’re adorable.”

He’s too tired to stop himself from blushing and a covert glance at his watch reveals that it’s nearing three am. He rubs his temples and it takes him a while to do the math. “How have we been talking for almost eight hours?” Clint looks sheepish but Phil just smiles a little to reassure him. “Not that I’m complaining, I’m just really glad I don’t have to work in the morning.”

Clint stands and grabs the empty cups of coffee (they’ve had three each) and the small plates when they’d tried Darcy’s (the night baker) experiments. “C’mon, Phil, let’s get you home.”

Calling attention to how long they’d been talking had seemed to dry up their conversation, but the silence between them is companionable. They make it to the station and wait for the F, which runs every 20 minutes this late at night like most New York trains.

“What train do you take to get home?” Phil asks a bit muzzily, the heat of the subway making him drowsy.

“This one. I come from further down the way at job number one and ride to this station on the F the same time you do to get to job number two. And then home, sleep, lather, rinse, repeat.” They’d talked about work earlier and Phil thinks for a moment before he recalls that Clint is a personal trainer/physical therapy assistant for injured veterans by day and a barista at night.

Phil hums and leans a little closer to Clint as they sit in the most comfortable seats in the car. As the minutes pass, they drift closer together until they’re pressed side to side, their heads resting against each other as they watch the stations come and go outside the window.

Seven stops later, the train is slowing once more and Phil sighs, sad to have this end. He straightens as Clint does and almost misses what Clint says when he sighs, “This is me.” Clint has said the same thing. They had the same train stop and hadn’t ever met before because of their different work schedules. They chuckle together as they leave the train, the only ones in the station. They turn to each other but don’t otherwise move until the train is gone.

“Which way?” Phil asks and Clint jerks his head in the opposite direction than Phil’s apartment. He nods and tries not to feel sad that their time together is dwindling down. He jerks his thumb behind him at Clint’s silent question of where he’s headed. “Good night, Clint,” he says softly.

“Night, Phil,” Clint’s voice is just as hushed.

Phil doesn’t move and neither does Clint. He doesn’t want all this to just…end. Without thinking too much on it, he wraps his fingers around Clint’s wrist and tugs him in a little so he can kiss his cheek. Clint has other ideas, it seems, because at the last second he turns his head and catches Phil’s lips with his own. A faint, startled noise escapes him but he doesn’t pull away. He leans in tentatively, but the kiss doesn’t last very long.

“We were at the cafe for eight hours, Phil. Most shifts there are only six. We were there for at least four dates worth of time. Maybe eight, depending on length. I think I deserve more than just a cheek kiss.”

Phil laughs and pulls Clint into a hug and just holds him for another few minutes. Clint makes him pull back when he yawns into his shoulder. “Bed time.” He cuts off any sarcastic remark from Phil with a tender, lingering kiss that makes Phil doubt his knees again.

“Good night, this time.” Phil smiles as Clint walks away—backwards so they can maintain eye contact longer—and waves before turning around to head home. He’d rather not walk into something if he tried Clint’s trick. He doesn’t quite remember how he got home or when he took his clothes off, but in the morning he’ll see that his door is in fact locked and his clothes are strewn over his floor between that door and his bedroom.

* * *

Phil wakes slowly, hazy and warm in his own bed. Memories from the night before filter in and Phil smiles to himself. It had been a fantastic night, one he likely won’t forget for a long time. His first instinct is to text Clint but…a shock of realization wakes him up sharply. He didn’t get Clint’s number. And Clint won’t be in to work for the next two days, so he can’t go there and get it. Phil covers his face and groans.

And then slaps his own cheeks when he remembers, of course, that he can just post something else in Missed Connections. He rolls over and throws himself at his bedside table to snatch up his phone. He _needs_ to make this post now. He can’t wait.

**I’m the Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

I really hope you see this, even though this is such a stab in the dark. I meant to get your number, I was silly not to ask for it right away. I’d really like to see you again.

If I can point fingers, I’ll point them at getting home after 3:30am when usually I’m waking up at 5.

_poster id: 430081218_

Phil refreshes the page once after crawling out of bed to make coffee, and once again after brushing his teeth twenty minutes later. Somewhere between those two times, Clint has replied.

**Dear Cutie in Dolce on the F-train—**

Meet me on the 5pm F train ;)

_poster id: 616199999_

Phil grins as he types out: It’s a date.

 


End file.
